And what a marvellous fund he had to draw from! All the years when he, a sailor boy, had sailed afar, all the strange countries and people he had visited, and all the mishaps he had met were now levied upon. When these failed--and it was not soon--his wilderness wanderings before he settled down at Greenvale furnished tales, and when facts became scarce, his fancies came into play, and many a thrilling shipwreck and hair-breadth escape that never happened, held Ray's attention for a long evening. The banjo also helped out for many an hour. The old hermit with his jews'-harp joined in, and although Ray's fingers were prone to stray to "solemn" tunes, Old Cy persisted in his calls for livelier songs, even to the extent of adding his voice; and so the first few weeks of winter wore away. When Christmas neared, however, Ray had a "spell." It had been a calendar day in his memory, and he had been one of the crowd of young folks who made merry in the usual ways; but now no cheer was possible, he believed, and once more he began to look glum. It may seem rank foolishness and doubtless was, yet Ray, like all humanity, must be measured by his years and judged by his surroundings. In Greenvale he had been one of fifty schoolmates whose lives and moods were akin, and whose enjoyments must be much the same. Here he was, in a way, utterly alone so far as age means companionship, and worse than that, one of his two companions was morose and misanthropic. True, he twanged his jews'-harp in tune with Ray's plantation melodies, but when that bond of feeling ceased, he lapsed into chill silence once more. But Old Cy, wise philosopher that he was, saw and felt every mood and tense that came to Ray, and, seeing thus, forestalled each and every one. "Christmas is 'most here," he said to Ray, a few days before, "an' I've been figgerin' we three ought to celebrate it 'cordin' to the best o' our means. We can't do much in the way o' gifts, but we kin bust ourselves with vittles 'n' have some fun, just the same. I've kinder mapped out the day sorter this way, if it's pleasant. Fust, we'll hev an arly breakfast, then pack a lot o' things on the hand-sled, go 'cross the lake 'n' round to the cove facin' the south. Here we'll cut a few holes, set some lines, 'n' while you're tendin' 'em, Amzi 'n' me'll clear a spot under the bank, build a bough lean-to facin' the sun, spread blankets in it, 'n' when noon comes, cook a meal fit fer the gods. We kin hev briled venison, fried trout jist out o' the water, boiled taters, hot coffee, 'n' an appetite that'll make ye lick yer fingers 'n' holler fer more. If only the sun shines, we kin hev a heap o' fun." It was all a boyish diversion as planned by Old Cy, and the sole object was to tide Ray over a day that might add to his homesickness. The weather favored this kindly interest.